


The Distance Between Us

by Everlind



Series: Ever After verse [1]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shishido Ryou loses his regular spot on the tennis team, he turns to Ohtori Choutarou for help. This is where they started, but not where they will end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**The Distance Between Us**

As the silence lengthens, the tension grows to become an uncomfortable, shivering sensation between them. He'd formulated it as an appeal but it appeared as a challenge at the core. Both of them know it.

For a moment Shishido forgets the all-consuming fire that has driven him to this point and he almost, _almost_ , forgets why they are having this unlikely stand-off in the first place.

What will Ohtori do? 

Shishido looks up at him and waits. And damn the kid, anyway! How the hell did he get so freakin' tall? It’s bad enough Atobe is taller than him (and barely an inch at that!) but a second year is even worse. Only thirteen and already a head taller than him. Goddammit, it isn't fair.

"Well?" he presses.

Ohtori glances at him and his lips flatten. The indecision sits plain on his face.

There's a reason he asked Ohtori, of course. Shishido could've asked Gakuto or Jiroh both of who would've helped him despite Hyotei's harsh regimen. At least, so he likes to think even though their friendships strain uncomfortably under the whole situation. Heck, Shishido sure feels a sudden rend, filled with teeming awkwardness but they've been buddies since they were toddlers so that's gotta count for something, right?

But Gakuto can't help him. Shishido can beat him and they both know it.

Even Jiroh can't help him even though Shishido _can't_ beat him. Not anymore. Jiroh is good, but he hasn't got what Shishido needs.

Ohtori does.

There might be one or two others in the club who posses a similar technique or move, though admittedly none as good as Ohtori's. But besides Gakuto and Jiroh, nobody in the club would even _think_ of helping him. After all, his unsightly loss to Tachibana is a blight on Hyotei's record and he was dropped off the regulars for it accordingly. Everybody covets a regular's spot obviously enough that they're not going to help someone who lost his (so spectacularly at that) regain it.

Not that anybody who gets dropped ever wins his way back, of course.

_No._

_Don't think about that._

First things first.

Ohtori takes a deep breath and looks away. It seems he’s finally made up his mind. "Alright," he says.

It takes everything to keep the sheer relief off his face. Instead he nods as though he expected nothing less. "Perfect. We'll start tonight. I got a key to the courts. Meet at eight?" he tosses out casually instead.

For a moment it looks like Ohtori is going to protest, but his fists clench and he takes a deep breath. Then he returns rather icily, "Fine."

Shishido nods. Better look as though he's got complete control over the situation. Casual. He has to be casual. "See you at eight then. Bye."

And with that he's off, leaving Ohtori to grind his teeth at his retreating back.

Okay, so yeah. He feels kinda guilty about that. But on the other hand, if Ohtori can't muster the backbone to tell him 'no', yeah well, then whose fault is that? Not his. Shishido curls his fingers around the key in his pocket. Not his fault either that the spare key was lying unattended in plain view for the taking. 

Nothing is going to stop him.

If that means breaking the rules and obtaining an illegal copy of the court key, then so be it.

It that means cornering Ohtori and taking advantage of the kid's impeccable manners towards his senpai... 

So be it.

***

"If we continue you'll definitely get injured, Shishido-senpai..." Ohtori says sounding exasperated. "I can't even hold my racket anymore. Let's take a break."

Shishido hears him vaguely. His whole body throbs with pain, as though he's been flayed alive. That scud serve is really something. He's chosen well.

Across of him, on the other side of the net, Ohtori has one hand in his hair and is looking rather harassed. No doubt by his conscience. "You're not even holding a racket," he says yet again, as though that is the root of the problem. "How long do we..."

Doesn't he _get_ it? With his rising temper, Shishido finds enough energy to growl out: "Stop talking crap. Continue."

Ohtori just looks at him for a moment, clearly not sure what to make of this situation and the crazy senpai who keeps commanding him, over and over, to serve at him. Then he sighs, resigned, and picks a ball from the basket. 

One thing Shishido has to hand to him though, in retrospect, it's not that he lacks a backbone. Ohtori just operates on an entirely different level in some ways. Their overall reactions differ so greatly from one other that it isn’t that Shishido can’t figure him out. He just doesn't _understand_ this person.

After all, Ohtori is a regular and he's earned that spot fair and square. Likely, at this point, Ohtori could wipe the court with Shishido. That's what makes this so strange. In a way Ohtori is deliberately allowing Shishido the opportunity to break the amazing serve that, up until now, only Kabaji can return. That aside, he has no obligation at all to help Shishido but that of an obligation of a kouhai to his senpai. And if he had wanted to, Ohtori would have easily been able to come up with dozens of excuses not to. Main one being that Ohtori is a regular and Shishido is not. Those who lose are dropped. Permanently. 

And yet here they are.

What Shishido appreciates most, though, is that Ohtori doesn't hit any softer or slower despite visibly showing distaste each time the ball smashes into Shishido.

As it does now.

In his face no less.

Shishido sees stars. _Like in the cartoons_ , he thinks rather randomly. But then he realizes he's on his back and looking up at the sky. The left side of his face, specifically the area around his temple and eyebrow, screams out in agony. For an instant he is paralyzed.

"Shishido-senpai," Ohtori says calm but firm, "let's stop for now..."

_Get up_ , Shishido tells himself, and he does.

Ohtori is frowning and it's clear he's had enough. Well, that's just too bad.

"Not just yet!" he grunts as several muscles in his body shriek at the abuse when he stands and braces himself. "Next."

They stare at each other over the net and it feels as though they are worlds apart. Well, Ohtori doesn't have to understand him. He just needs to serve that damn ball. The twist of Ohtori's mouth is indication enough he's getting angry. Shishido is pushing him and it looks as though he'd like to shove back. 

Just when Shishido thinks with a frantic stab of worry that Ohtori will throw his racket down and walk away, he serves.

Over and over.

And hits Shishido. Over and over.

They don't speak again that night.

***

After four such sessions, there isn't any progress. Unless he counts the numerous amounts of bruises he's collecting, then yeah, he's making great progress.

Huzzah.

Shishido winces and shifts around on his chair. There's no comfortable position anymore. He's damned sure Ohtori has only been serving at his front, but even his behind is black and blue. Probably from falling down on his ass all the time. Makes sense. And by fuck, he's _tired_. He's never been so tempted to copy Jiroh and put his head down to catch some sleep as he is now.

But Jiroh isn't sleeping.

Jiroh sits and frowns at him.

Shishido frowns back and makes a 'what?' gesture.

At the front of the class their teacher has stopped pretending she knows what she's talking about and is just reading straight from the book. Shishido has never had any teacher who's managed to make history as boring as this. How can history be boring? It's ages and ages of people murdering and slaughtering each other. It's centuries of intrigue and plots and political struggle. It's evolution. History should be interesting. It should be fun, even. People make _movies_ about certain events in history. So how can it be boring?

Jiroh tosses a note at him.

Shishido snatches it out of mid-air, frowns at him, and unfolds it carefully under his desk.

_You look awful. But Choutarou-kun looks worse._

Shishido scowls and scrawls back, _none of your business,_ and folds it into an airplane. 

It floats down onto Jiroh's desk and he reads it. His expression is disapproving. 

The note comes back.

_I'm your friend._

Shishido looks at it for a moment. Then he gets angry. His response is pure fury that makes his characters nearly illegible. _Yeah? You're not helping me, are you? Ohtori is a big boy; he can walk away any time. Back off, alright?_

Jiroh writes back, equally fast, but not furious. It takes a lot more than that to anger him.

_Nobody gets back on the regulars after they've been dropped. You're making both him and yourself miserable for nothing :(_

For the longest time Shishido stares at that response, the paper crinkling between his fingers. When the bell rings he shoves it into his pocket, grabs his bags and books and storms off.

***

"Ohtori."

The junior looks at him from where he's unzipping his racket. There's shadows under his eyes and he's even paler than usual. The bright lights from the spotlights makes him look horrible. "Senpai?" he acknowledges. 

Shishido really doesn't know why he's going to say what he's about to say. It sounds lame and stupid and cheesy and it's all _Jiroh's_ fault. Really. Oh God, why? Ugh. Okay.

"Thank you," he manages softly under his breath. "For helping me."

There.

He did it.

For the longest while Ohtori looks more as though Shishido has just punched him in the face instead of thanking him. Then he draws an audible breath and nods. "No problem," he says. 

And he smiles.

Not his usual polite little quirk of lips, the one that matches the expression he displays most of the time.

No, this is a genuine, radiant smile.

For a moment Shishido almost staggers. It feels as though he's been hit _hard_ low in his stomach and his heart flops into the back of his throat in response, choking him with its sudden urgent throbbing.

It feels worse than a scud serve.

Jesus.

"Senpai?" Ohtori calls out, concerned. "Are you okay? Maybe we shouldn't do this today."

"I'm fine, Ohtori," Shishido flaps his hand at him. "Don't worry."

Ohtori looks like he doesn't really believe him. Shishido isn't sure he believes _himself_ , actually.

He's just tired. 

That's why... yeah. He's just tired. Still dazed and confused he walks to his side of the net. He braces himself.

"Are you ready for this, senpai?" Ohtori calls at him.

Tossing his hair back, Shishido bares his teeth and growls, "Bring it."

***

It's been a week. Shishido feels like time is slipping through his fingers as though it were water. 

Once more he's on his back on the court, his head ringing from the impact of the ball. This one hit true and hard, enough to makes the bile in his stomach rise as his balance collapses in on itself, and the world with it, into darkness.

In a strange way he is still aware of what is happening. He can hear Ohtori call out once, twice. Footsteps approach. Ohtori calls his name again, again, and audibly panics. 

"I've killed him," he gasps to himself, "I've killed him."

Shishido peels his eyes open and winces against the bright light seemingly stabbing right into his brain. "It takes a lot more than a tennis ball to kill me, Choutarou," he manages with a slur, lacing his words together.

_Choutarou_.

Huh.

Kneeling next to him, hands in his hair and all the blood drained away from his face is Ohtori, who starts violently when he speaks. His eyes are wide and dark and absolutely terrified.

"Help me up," Shishido tells him. It hurts his pride to ask, but worse would be to try it on his own and pass out again.

"You scared the hell out of me!" Ohtori bursts out with a hoarse yell and abruptly claps a hand over his mouth.

Shishido is highly amused, Ohtori is such a funny kid at times. "Sorry," he says and tries to smile reassuringly.

It's more of a grimace. He's not good at this comforting-business, but Ohtori seems to understand. After a moment he moves to help Shishido up. In the end he half-carries him to the bench, not because Shishido can't walk himself, but more because he just can't walk straight. 

He sinks down on the bench gratefully. Just a minute, he promises himself, and then they'll start again. 

Ohtori seems to think differently. "Enough for today," he says. "Either you use a racket or we stop."

"No racket," Shishido says, lolling a bit unsteadily as he gropes for his water bottle.

"Senpai, please."

"No racket," Shishido repeats with finality. "It won't make any difference if I can do it with a racket."

Ohtori looks at him helplessly.

Raking back the tendrils of hair that stick to his face with sweat (or blood) Shishido pointedly refuses to meet those pleading eyes. Ohtori is sinfully good at that look, good enough that he occasionally tempts Shishido into almost giving in. Almost. Not good enough though. 

Crickets' chirping is the only sound to fill the silence. They sit together in a wide circle of light with shadows pressing in close all around. Above are clear skies, stars twinkling brightly. It's probably way past Ohtori's bedtime, Shishido thinks, and smiles to himself.

"I can stop helping you," Ohtori suddenly says, almost gently.

Shishido can't help himself. He whirls to look at Ohtori in shock, the movement hard enough to make the world hazy again and sharp enough that the end of his own pony-tail smacks him in the face. 

Ohtori looks back steadily. 

Up until this instant Shishido has tried not to show how important to him this really is. Right now Ohtori must be able to see how desperate he is and how frantic that Ohtori might mean it. He can't mean it. If Ohtori means it. Then. What? Nothing. That's what. No, he can't mean it. He can't.

"Ohtori-" he starts, low and hoarse, but then he freezes right where he is when Ohtori reaches and touches his face.

It stings.

Shishido just gapes, leaning back halfway, eyes wide.

Belatedly Ohtori seems to realize he's not only touching his senpai, but also hurting him. "Sorry," he blurts quickly, snatching his hand away. "It's just... Your eyebrow is split. I think it needs stitches. I'm sorry, I-"

Shishido finds his voice. "Can you sew?" he manages to ask teasingly.

Ohtori looks horrified. "Senpai. You can't mean that! I can't-'

"I'm kidding!" Shishido says quickly. "Sheesh, calm down. Can't take a joke, can you?"

"This is not something to joke about!" Ohtori says irritably. "Your eyebrow is split. Right here." He touches his index finger to his own face, tapping the outer corner of his left eyebrow.

Shishido lifts his hand automatically to feel for himself and nearly has another heart attack when Ohtori grabs his hand before he can do so. For such a young kid Ohtori has large, strong hands but with slender, nimble fingers. They swallow Shishido's completely. _Pianist's hands_ , his mother would say.

"Don't touch it," Ohtori says firmly, pushing his hand down. "Or it'll get even more infected."

"Yessir," Shishido jokes when he manages to get his heart rate somewhat under control.

Ohtori flushes. "Sorry, senpai, I didn't mean to sound-"

Landing a playful tap against his shoulder, Shishido tells him, "Enough. Stop with the senpai, it's annoying. Just call me Ryou."

"I can't do that!" Ohtori exclaims, completely alarmed.

Yup. Impeccable manners. His parents certainly haven't gone easy on that aspect of his upbringing.

"Shishido, then," he amends.

Ohtori looks uncomfortable. Then he offers, "Shishido-san?"

After a deep sigh, Shishido relents with an eye-roll, "Alright." 

Strange kid. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to tell Ohtori they're continuing when his cell phone vibrates itself off the bench with a clatter. He put it on silent earlier as to not be disturbed. Ohtori scoops it up and hands it to him. It's a message from Gakuto:

WHERE THE HELL R U?! UR MOM IS GONNA KILL U (>__

He checks the time.

"Fuck," he utters with feeling.

His mother _is_ going to kill him. Sweetly and gently, but she's gonna kill him. It's past midnight, by now she's probably called everybody she could think off and is now contemplating calling the police.

His phone vibrates a second time. It's a message from Jiroh.

Your mother just called. Better hurry home :p

And a third time.

From... Atobe? "What the hell?" he mutters.

Go home.

"Alright then," he mutters to himself. "We'd better go home," he says to Ohtori. 

Ohtori checks his watch and winces. 

They pack their gear in silence. Shishido is still a bit woozy, but nothing he can't handle. He fumbles with the lock for a moment. With the overhead lights out, everything is drenched in darkness. Ohtori is a silent presence by his side. Together they walk off the campus towards the distant glow of the street lights. Trees make dark sentinels at their sides, watchfully silent with no wind stirring their leaves.

"Are you going to be in trouble with your folks?" Shishido asks him after a moment.

"It'll be alright," Ohtori responds after a moment's hesitation. 

It's an empty statement, devoid of any actual faith. Shishido feels a sharp stab of guilt. 

Just as he is fumbling with an apology on his tongue, Ohtori turns to him at the corner of the block and points the other way Shishido was about to head in. "I need to go that way," he says.

"Ah, yes," Shishido mumbles, distracted. "Tomorrow?"

"Of course," Ohtori says and smiles faintly. "Tomorrow, sen-" he catches himself, "Shishido-san."

With a nod and a wave he's off, sprinting away. 

"Bye," Shishido manages weakly. "Choutarou."

***

"Ryou!" his mother shrieks at him as he enters the kitchen, "What happened?!"

Both his parents are seated at the table with only a single light on, waiting anxiously for their wayward son to show up. The portable phone is in the middle of the table, along with the address book.

After a moment of plain gaping, his father surges up from his chair. "Did you get in a fight?" he asks as he advances on him. When he's towering over him, he favors his son with a particularly black scowl.

"No, I didn't get in a fight," Shishido mumbles. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, though."

That earns him light a rap against the back of his head. "No cheek from you, young man," his father growls. "It's past midnight. We almost called the police!"

"What happened to your eyebrow?" his mother asks again, advancing on him with a cloth drenched in disinfectant. Dressed in her nightdress she looks almost elfin, small and slight with dark hair tumbling thickly over her shoulders. He's taller than her now ( _finally_ , thanks to this year's grows spurt). She looks more like she could be his little sister, but armed with that cloth, Shishido fears the night won't end before having to submit to this one last trial.

Shishido starts to put the table between them. "I got hit with a tennis ball, okay? It was an accident. It's fine."

"You were out playing tennis?" his father asks, flabbergasted.

"No, I was doing drugs and getting drunk," Shishido says, sarcasm abundant.

Another rap, this one sharper.

They glower at each other.

"Boys!" his mother says in her Mother voice. "Enough. Ryou, _sit_. Sweetheart, get the medicine kit."

Shishido sits.

His father scampers away to get the medicine kit.

The cloth is pressed against his temple and a searing burn flares up as the disinfectant seeps into the cuts. Involuntarily his left eye starts to tear in response.

"Ryou," his mother says after a moment of dabbing blood and dirt away. Her hand cups the other side of his face and turns it towards her. "What are you doing?"

Shishido doesn't wrench away, but drops his eyes down to avoid her gaze. 

"Is this about losing your regular's spot?" she asks quietly.

Reluctantly he nods. 

"How much longer?"

"A week," Shishido tells her. "At most."

She sighs and pulls up a chair next to him. Meanwhile his father returns with some bottles and band-aids. He puts them on the table, levels a look at his son that says plainly he isn't off the hook yet and leaves. Shishido can hear him trudge up the stairs and into the bedroom. 

Lifting his chin up with the finger of one hand, the other pokes and rubs at his face as they inspect the damage. It takes some effort not to make any sound, but he bites the inside of his cheek and doesn't, not even when his mother carefully pulls the cut open. 

"A tennis ball?" she asks, disbelievingly.

"A tennis ball," Shishido repeats.

She tapes a band-aid over it, a vertical patch crossing the slanting line of his left eyebrow, at the corner. Then she gets up to make some tea. Shishido feels exhaustion creep up his spine and slide thick and heavy over his eyes. All the small hurts have combined to form one throbbing pulse, feeling as if his heart is _everywhere_ , beating just under his skin. 

For a moment he allows himself to hope he'll wake up in the morning, sane and sound and will find his regular's jersey draped over the back of his chair where it always has. For a moment, also, he allows himself to feel the stab of fury that they kicked him off the regulars because he lost to Tachibana. Tachibana, who is a captain, an opponent even Atobe would have a hell of a time defeating. 

And then he lets it go.

Useless concerns. 

Only one thing he can do now.

His hands curl into tight fists and his jaw clenches. But his breathing is calm and even and perfectly controlled. Adrenaline pushes the hurt away so the dull throbbing becomes a high-pitched humming.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" his mother states, more than asks. She's been watching his face carefully, without Shishido really being aware of it.

"Just one more week," he says, but is a question, a plea even.

There's a deep silence during which they simply stare at one other. His mother seems lightly surprised this is the kind of man her son is starting to grow into. It does not seem the bad kind of surprise and that gives him hope. Shishido swallows and looks at her, trying to keep his expression neutral. His mother groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. 

"Alright. One week," she concedes with a shuddering sigh and Shishido fights not to break out into a smile. "One week and then this stops. Deal?" 

A slender hand is proffered. His own hand, almost identical, though slightly rougher and more scarred, clasps hers. They shake.

"Deal."

***

It's hard not to take his frustration out on Ohtori. Seeing as he is the only person present makes him an ideal target to vent on, but Shishido refrains, with difficulty, from doing so. Sometimes sharp words will escape him despite this, but he tries to master himself as soon as he realizes it, forcing himself to go on in a more sedate tone.

Thing is, Ohtori is basically a good person. 

Talking down on him (figuratively, thanks to the kid's height) makes Shishido feel awful. Which is a first. It's not that Ohtori is completely selfless, or self-sacrificing, or sweet, or something as strange as that. No. But he's good human being. Next to him Shishido starts to feel terribly grubby and petty and not as though he's become the sort of person one would be proud of. 

It makes Shishido start to feel strangely compelled to give something, even if it's only kinder words, back.

But when that fucking tennis ball smacks right against his left eyebrow, _again_ , it's impossible to keep his mouth shut.

"Fucking hell, fuck, ah fuckfuckfuck- NO. Don't fucking touch me, just, just- ah. Dammit," Shishido hisses and curses and alternately curls over himself, instinctively protecting his weak parts, before stomping around in aggressive circles.

Eventually he wobbles and sits down where he's standing. The abuse has left his eyebrow numb, wet with blood and pus. By now it resembles a rotten piece of fruit. Squishy and dark and not right.

Ohtori leaves him be for a minute or two, but then he approaches anyway, face a picture of worry and resolve. Long legs fold before him as Ohtori crouches. A water bottle is offered.

Shishido takes it and drinks deeply. "Thanks. Sorry. It just fucking hurt."

"Imagine that," Ohtori says dryly.

It helps that Ohtori has a very dry sense of humor. Shishido can appreciate that above all. He grins wryly. Ohtori quirks his lips back and then gives a tired shake of the head.

"Shishido-san," he says, winding an arm carefully around his shoulders to lever him up. "Please, enough for today."

The fact that Shishido doesn't have the heart to protest tells both of them enough. Shishido tries to walk to the bench on his own strength and he manages, but Ohtori flanks him a step to his right. He's stopped hovering and fidgeting, having adapted a more no-nonsense approach. He doesn't flutter with worry as he walks next to him, but Shishido knows he'll grab him if his knees give out anyway. Heaven forbid that they do, though.

Back on the bench Shishido sinks down with a sigh. 

Six more days. Somehow he has to do this in six days. It makes him exhausted just to think about it.

"I've brought some disinfectant and band-aids," Ohtori says, digging for the items in his bag. "I forgot to take cotton swabs, though. Sorry."

"S'okay," Shishido says, but tenses anyway when Ohtori straddles the bench too, mirroring him, and scoots closer. There's going to be touching and Shishido isn't sure he likes it. It's strange and weird and it makes him feel insecure.

Ohtori uncaps the bottle and hesitates. "I'm not sure how to..." his hands come up, falter next to Shishido's head and go back down. "Uhm. Maybe you should tip your head back. I'll try to pour it in." 

All this makes Shishido want to tell Ohtori not to bother, but he is doing this out of kindness. Because he's a good person. But Shishido doesn't like baring vulnerabilities, even if it is something as absurd as being touched by Ohtori. He doesn't even know why, really. Which makes it ten shades of lame.

So he tips his head back far, eyes up at the sky, neck uncomfortable. Ohtori comes even closer, makes several awkward motions with the bottle he all instantly aborts. Then he cups his left hand over Shishido's eye. "Sorry," he says.

"It's okay."

"Don't want to get it in your eye," he adds, quite unnecessarily. 

"Would sting like a bitch, I imagine," Shishido concedes.

Ohtori tries not to smile, but fails. Then he leans so close Shishido's nose is nearly in the v of his shirt and mutters, "This is going to burn." He tips the bottle.

Understatement, anyone? Shishido bites his tongue, sharp and accidental. Blood floods his mouth.

Using the hem of his spare clean shirt, Ohtori wipes the area around it clean. Long fingers pick out tendrils of hair from where they stick into the cut. Then he pours some more disinfectant in it. A little moisture seeps into the crease of his eyelid despite his efforts. Gently, it's wiped away by the pad of his thumb.

Shishido hopes it is over soon. He's becoming dizzy.

As Ohtori adds the final touch with a band-aid, Shishido feels lightheaded and has to sit with his eyes closed for a while. When he opens them Ohtori is giving him a rather disapproving frown.

"You must think I'm crazy," Shishido says with a tight little smile.

"Yes, a bit," Ohtori agrees. "But you know, I think it's working for you."

Shishido really can't tell whether this is meant as a joke or not. As relaxed as Ohtori is becoming around him (continuously hurting someone seems to leave little purpose for formality) Shishido still can't quite judge him correctly. Mostly when Ohtori's expression is a serious chance it's a joke. Now he isn't sure; it seems a bit of both.

Lips twitch at Shishido's suspicious squint, but he goes on the explain, "You moved your hand up this time. I really thought you were going to catch it."

Shishido blinks. "Huh. I can't remember reacting to the ball." Something like sweet, warm hope pools into his stomach.

"Instinct probably," Ohtori suggests.

"Whatever works," Shishido responds, a slow fierce smile stretching around his mouth. "Whatever works."

***

The next session, however, goes so abysmally it is as though there hasn't been any improvement at all, ever. As though he's starting all over again, but already burdened with layer upon layer of bruises. 

What little morale they have mustered between the two of them evaporates with Shishido's rising desperation. By the end of the night they're angry at each other without actually having exchanged painful words.

Shishido fumes and snipes. Ohtori goes coldly polite, pulling a screen of ice in front of him in the form of a bland little smile.

The lake between them becomes an ocean filled with storm-capped ocean waves.

After taking a ball to the throat, nearly collapsing his windpipe, Ohtori pointedly refuses to go on. He packs his bags and leaves with Shishido screaming hoarsely at his retreating back. He rages and shouts long after he's gone, long enough for his voice to give out.

In the end he goes to stand at what he's come to think of as Ohtori's side of the net. He serves at an invisible opponent until the basket is empty. 

Then he throws his racket across the net and doesn't cry. 

***

Despite all odds, the friction and hostility between them, Ohtori shows up the day after. Shishido can't believe his eyes. Instead he gapes dumbly as the other unzips his bag and takes his racket out.

For a moment they stare at each other. Then Ohtori bows his head. "I'm so sorry, senpai, but I really can't... if, _oh_ ," Ohtori stops to run a hand through his hair. It stands up in funky loops. "If this doesn't work today, I'm... I can't do this anymore, I-"

"Ohtori. Please," Shishido manages. "Just a few more days."

"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?" Ohtori asks, voice shaking. "Don't ask me to-"

"I _am_ asking you. You said yes, don't back out now," Shishido tells him and takes a step closer. "I need to do this."

Ohtori looks at him uncomprehendingly, "Why? It's just tennis."

"That's why," Shishido responds harshly. "That's exactly why."

He loves tennis. And he's supposed to be good at it. It was the one thing he stood out with, even if it was just in his family. Shishido knows he blends in with the masses. He's not especially handsome like Atobe and Oshitari, or naturally gifted like them either. He hasn't got Jiroh's easy warmth or Gakuto's generous friendship. He hasn't got Kabaji's physical and mental strength, nor Hiyoshi's self-control. He's perfectly average. He isn't talented. He isn't _good_. Not like Ohtori. He has tennis and now even that is gone.

He's thinking about this in a thin, desperate sort of way when Ohtori does something very strange. His face softens around his eyes and eyebrows, but his jaw clenches and then, _then_ he reads Shishido's mind. 

"Shishido-san," Ohtori murmurs. "You stand out all by yourself without tennis."

"I-" Shishido blinks at him. "I. What?"

"Everybody admires you," Ohtori says. "Didn't you know? I just- What are you trying to prove?"

"I. What? Prove?" Shishido shakes his head. "I don't. This is for me. I'm doing this for me."

"Are you?"

" _Yes_ ," Shishido bursts out. "For who else?"

Ohtori is quiet for a long time, thoughtful. They're wasting precious time with this surreal conversation, but Shishido senses he shouldn't push Ohtori just now. If he gives Ohtori a reason to walk away a second time, he's not coming back. The floodlight flares up behind Ohtori blindingly, dying his hair even fairer than it is, but casting the rest of his face in darkness. The shadow of his tall frame slants across Shishido, with him standing approximately in the chest area of the dark silhouette. 

"Shishido-san," Ohtori murmurs, "I don't understand."

Nodding, Shishido moves closer. "You don't have to," he insists. "Just help me for four more days."

It's not something he can explain. He just has to do this. They knocked him to his knees, but Shishido will be damned if he doesn't get up and knock twice as hard back. It's just something you _do_. There's no 'why' or 'but' about it. Nothing more important than showing the lot of them that he's more than just that, that nothing will keep him down. 

And it's tennis.

He _loves_ tennis.

It's tennis.

Is there anything more satisfactory than being good at something you enjoy doing?

"Choutarou," he says. "Please."

Ohtori squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back for a good, deep sigh. "Alright."

Shishido lets a out a lungful of held-in breath. 

"But."

He sucks it back in.

"Tonight," Ohtori says, "you have to catch that ball. If not, we continue with a racket. No-, senpai, please, I really can't. Don't tell me to."

It smarts, but Shishido agrees. It seems Ohtori has hit his limit and is putting his foot down at last. All his bruises and infected wounds agree heartily with that decision, but Shishido only feels a sinking swoop in his belly. It doesn't matter if he can do it with a racket. All the training will have been for nothing. Yet he can't bring himself to be angry with Ohtori anymore. Hurting someone deliberately over and over, no matter the intentions, must be hard.

"Alright," he manages, voice strangled with rising defeat. "It's a deal."

Ohtori nods.

Shishido nods back.

Finally they begin the motions of their session, but it makes him feel terribly empty. How can he accomplish the impossible right this instant? If he doesn't, he'll have to continue with a racket despite all the hard, gruesome work. Shishido takes up his position on the other side of the net, but feels just an endless press of exhaustion instead of the adrenaline rush he usually gets. It's just too much.

Waiting for Ohtori to serve the ball is even bland. The promise he just made has gutted him. The illusion of time gave him a reprieve, it enabled him to forget the fatigue. Now there's no time left. Now or never.

Shishido mentally kicks himself, hard. What's the point in giving up? He's gonna do this. He's got to do this. Fuck being tired. Fuck time. If it's now or never, then it's gonna be _now_.

Ohtori suddenly pauses as he's bouncing the ball. "Shishido-san," he says rather softly, but the stillness of the night makes his voice carry as though he was standing right besides Shishido. "If anybody can do this, it's you."

The rush of sheer pleasure that statement brings is fiercer than the sharpest jab of adrenaline has ever been. He'd already made up his mind, but Ohtori just gave him a push in the back. It makes him feel gratitude beyond any he's ever experienced. Out loud, though, he says, "Geez, that's a lame thing to say, Ohtori."

Ohtori is just throwing up the ball, but Shishido's comment causes him to blink and miss. Instead the ball hits him in the middle of the forehead. He doesn't even seem to notice, instead he just gapes, vaguely hurt.

"But thanks anyway," Shishido adds.

After a moment, Ohtori smiles. Genuinely.

That night he catches the ball.

Barehanded.

***

With last night's victory _still_ singing through him, his spirits soaring, Shishido waits patiently (or as patient as he's capable of) for Ohtori to show. He's running a bit late this evening, it's already quarter past eight. It chafes at him to wait, he feels nearly invincible, he wants to do it again over and over. There's no sweeter pain than that of a tennis ball slamming into his palm. Nineteen times. He caught it nineteen times yesterday. 

And what made it even better was that Ohtori was grinning as fiercely as he was, as elated as he was. It was strange how connected they were as they packed up their bags. Almost as though he could feel Ohtori breathing, could sense where he was and could anticipate his next movement. As they walked back over campus their footsteps had matched, - _left right left right_ \- their pace identical and their breathing synchronized. 

It had been almost frightening.

Half past eight.

What is keeping him?

Cursing his lack of foresightedness at not asking Ohtori's cell phone number, Shishido balances his racket first on his right index finger and then tries it on his left. He has no way of contacting Ohtori and is reduced to pacing around on the court, waiting. He hates waiting. Not to mention _bad_ at it.

Shishido practices against the wall and wishes he had gotten a chance to obtain a copy of the regular's clubhouse key as well. They have a gym and ball-machines; he could've used those as a substitute as he waits for Ohtori. Instead he slams balls against the concrete, teeth gritted, not wanting to admit what he's starting to suspect.

That he's not going to show.

At twenty past nine, Shishido balls his fists and packs his bags.

Ohtori didn't come.

It tastes twice as bitter after last night's spark of connection between them. Was it really only him who felt that? 

Did Ohtori think that that was it? Catch the ball and _finito,_ that was it? He needs to train even harder now. They're on the right track. He's got a chance, a real damn chance and _now_ Ohtori chooses to abandon him?

It's not betrayal. Not really. After all it's not like Ohtori and he are friends.

As Shishido walks back in the dark, alone, it does feel like it.

Betrayal.

***

"Shishido-san!" 

Shishido clenches his jaw and walks on, slipping through the press of students that flood the hallway. At the first glimpse of the second year, he'd turned and started the other way. He didn't want to deal with Ohtori just now. For once he's glad of his slightness, managing to maneuver more nimbly through all the live obstacles as opposed to Ohtori who, as a second year between third years, can hardly start shouldering his senpais aside and is thus reduced to mumbling apologies and side-stepping where he can.

"Shishido-senpai!"

Damn it. Can't he take a hint? 

"Oi, Ryou," one of his classmates says, grabbing the back of his uniform shirt. "This kid wants to talk to you."

Shishido schools his face as best as he can, but the look he gives his fellow third year is still so harsh the other releases him instantly. However small the detention, it is enough for Ohtori to catch up with him. Close enough at least Shishido can hardly completely ignore him, though he is very tempted to do so.

"Shishido-san," Ohtori manages breathlessly, leaning on his knees to catch his breath.

Turning to look up at him, Shishido answers coolly, "Yes, Ohtori-kun?"

Ohtori flinches, just the littlest bit. Yet he takes a step closer and goes on, "Shishido-san, I'm so _sorry_. I wanted to let you know, but I didn't have your number and. I'm sorry, I-"

What Ohtori doesn't know is that he had Shishido on the first 'sorry'. Shishido doesn't think anybody has ever offered him that sentiment quite so genuinely. Plus; those eyes. Those damn eyes.

God, who is he trying to fool?

"Let's go outside to talk about this, alright?" Shishido grumbles under his breath. Why is this so awkward? It's only _Ohtori_. He barely knows the kid. And why didn't Ohtori use the opportunity and walk away from this whole mess? Why did he come back? It's not like he enjoyed their training sessions. It's not like there is anything in it for him. Quite the opposite.

Why is Ohtori so damn difficult to figure out? It's like he comes from a whole other planet.

By the time they're outside it still doesn't make sense. The campus is huge, there's a million places to talk, but Shishido finds himself gravitating to the same spot he always tends to eat, underneath the sakura tree behind the clubhouse. It's private. Shishido leans against the tree trunk and wonders why it feels as though they had a fight.

Nothing happened.

They aren't even friends.

"So, what is it?" Shishido says into the stagnant silence.

Ohtori leans next to him. A tree trunk is only so wide and their arms brush. Shishido tried to ignore it, fails, and resorts to crossing his arms.

"I'm failing at school," Ohtori says softly. "My parents got a phone-call from my teacher. They were-"

Shishido has forgotten all about being pissed and can only stare in surprise. Of all explanations, he certainly didn't expect this.

"- and if I can't pick up my marks, they won't allow me to stay out late any longer. I know it's only a few more days, but they're really-" he stops again, his dark eyes wide and utterly sincere.

"It's because of the training, isn't it?" Shishido grumbles, feeling like a right asshole. "You didn't have any time left to study."

"I'm sorry, Shishido-senpai, I-"

"No, just. Don't, alright? Fuck." Shishido viciously pulls the elastic out of his ponytail, ripping out some hairs snagged on it in the progress and plunks down to the ground. His hair falls warm and heavy against the back of his neck. It feels good to have it loose and now he has the elastic to keep his hands preoccupied. 

After a moment Ohtori sits down next to him.

"But they'll still let you go out tonight, right?" Shishido asks.

Ohtori makes a tortured sort of expression, "Yes, I'm still allowed to go out. But senpai, I _can't_. I really need to try and pull up my marks, I'm sorry-"

"Just shut up for a moment and listen," Shishido tells him. "I was gonna make you a deal."

"A deal?" Ohtori echoes, slightly bewildered.

"Yeah," shaking his hair back, he scoots closer so he can keep a better track of Ohtori's reaction. "Look, I'm not Oshitari, alright? I'm no genius. But I got all those courses last year myself. I could help you, I'm pretty good at teaching people stuff. I could dig up my notes to help you out."

Ohtori just gapes.

Shishido plows on doggedly. "We could meet up at the courts right after dinner and I'll, you know, tutor you. If we have time left we can still practice tennis."

Ohtori gapes some more.

"So," Shishido leans even closer, "what do you think?"

"I-" Ohtori shakes his head and then, slowly, starts to smile. "Yes, I'd like that. Thank you, senpai." 

Shishido can't believe him.

_He's_ the reason Ohtori's been spectacularly failing his tests, _he's_ the reason Ohtori parents are having a right hissy fit, _he's_ the reason for bullying Ohtori into helping him, and what does the kid do? Thank him.

Un-fucking-believable. 


	2. Chapter 2

**The Distance Between Us**

The two rows of kanji next to each other make him smile. Why it causes him to do so, though, is inexplicable. 

Because honestly? It's kinda a sad sight to see.

Ohtori's handwriting is neat, precise. Beautiful even. His characters are clear, elegantly stroked, yet not fussy and elaborately embroidered on as Atobe's are. No-nonsense, and yet all the more pleasing because of it.

His own, an extra note added to Ohtori's admittedly well-composed essay, is chicken-scratch. Scribbly and grubby. His strokes get so tangled even _he_ has trouble deciphering what, exactly, he has written there only moments ago.

"Ah. er, if-" Shishido winds his ponytail around his wrist and frowns. "If you can't read it, just say so, 'kay?"

Ohtori blinks. "I can read it."

Well.

Shishido feels useless and pretty damn stupid next to Ohtori. So there he was, feeling all impressed with himself about his 'good deed' and all… only to have it turn out Ohtori doesn't _really_ need the help. Matter of fact, he doesn't need Shishido's input at all. The reason Ohtori was failing was just a combination of a sudden influx rush of tests and too little time to study for them because _someone_ was occupying the better part of the junior's evenings. 

Now that he gets the chance to study, he easily soaks up the knowledge like a dry sponge.

Ohtori is talented.

It's something Shishido now sees quite clearly. Not just at tennis. One look at his school roster confirmed as much. Music, art, sculpturing, creative writing classes, literature. He plays piano _and_ violin. And he draws really well. Shishido, being the nosy brat he knows himself to be, had rummaged in Ohtori schoolbag quite unabashedly. His sketchbook ( _ah, those are just quick sketches, Shishido-san… they're not very good_ ) seems like a vault of treasure. There is a portrait in it from a girl in Ohtori's class, Shishido doesn't even know her name, wouldn't be able to recall the color of her eyes or hair, but he did recognize her instantly from that sketch. His style in art reflects that of his handwriting. Ohtori uses hardly any lines, he hints at shapes, at movements, suggesting, but the reality of those few, precious marks of pencil are stunning in their simplicity.

Shishido had closed the book after only five pages.

And about failing his tests? Yeah. How about a side-dish of bullshit, anyone? Alright, _yes_ , they were C minuses. Not all sparklingly splendid. But, fuck that, he _passed_ , didn't he? It seems, according to Ohtori's parents' book, that 'passing' isn't good enough. Apparently even Bs get frowned upon. A- is the norm. 

If Shishido brings home a C minus, his mother just nods. If Ohtori brings home a C minus, he very nearly gets flayed alive.

So.

What is he doing?

There've been moments during their training when Shishido was extremely tempted to offer Ohtori advice. That scud serve is legendary in its speed. Yet only a few pointers would not only increase it's control (so it _wouldn't_ go out or hit the net two times out of five) but also it's strength. For all his youth Ohtori is damned strong. He's got more muscle on his chest and arms than Shishido will probably ever have on his whole _body_. Just imagine that serve being not only fast, but also so strong, so heavy the racket would fly clear out of your hands? It makes Shishido grin just thinking about it. On the other hand, he's relieved he never butted in. 

Ohtori clearly doesn't need any guidance. He'll figure it out on his own, won't he?

Besides, it's _Shishido_ who's asking for help, not Ohtori.

It's _Shishido_ who got dropped from the regulars, not Ohtori.

The line, though drawn with invisible chalk, is quite clear nonetheless.

Shishido doesn't mind fighting so he'll be able to cross it. But even if he does get to the other side, there'll always be a distance between them he won't be able to conquer.

That's alright.

He feels strangely tempted to be proud of Ohtori. There's no way to explain it, really. None of the things Ohtori does, or knows, or _is_ , is caused by any doing of Shishido's. Ohtori just _is_. Still, Shishido can't really suppress a smile when he thinks about it. Ohtori who is so kind and smart and strong and so very much beyond him, far enough Shishido still doesn't _get_ him, well, it's something good.

It's good.

And isn't that enough?

***

Their last training ends with a sudden roll of thunder and a sheet of rain crashing down.

Shishido randomly grabs stuff, his or Ohtori's, whatever, and stuffs it into his bag. They're packed and sprinting off the courts in less than five minutes, get the gates locked in mere seconds, and are _still_ soaking wet. Together they run along the campus' neatly tended paths to take cover under some trees clustering together. Thick, fat drops still sneak down the canopy, to splash on Ohtori's nose.

They both laugh. 

Taking shelter is rather pointless. They're both wet through. And yet they both stay where they are, laughing breathlessly at nothing. Maybe they're laughing at how ridiculous they both look, the predicament they're in.

Shishido's hair sticks to his temples, long wet tendrils making dark, snaking cracks over his skin. His ponytail is heavy with water and plastered to his nape and the back of his t-shirt, channeling water along the strands and oozing a rivulet of rain at the end. The constant tickle drips down his spine in a chilly run. His clothing is plastered to him like a second skin, his shorts wrapping around his thighs, his trainers squelching.

Ohtori's hair _curls_ in the humidity, dark pewter colored loops. His eyelashes spike together, a strange black contrasting against his fair hair. He freckles in the sun, just the littlest, tiniest bit. So lightly it'd even get lost in a picture. His shirt, cream-colored, is now a dark tan, hanging off his tall, lean frame. His jeans are soaked and heavy with it, dragging down his hips. There's deep lines cut into his body, his chest and arms, and yet his shoulders are too wide. He's still growing into his body which, for all Ohtori's strength, looks lean and lanky. With the curling hair, the big dark eyes, one would think he'd look innocent, angelic maybe, if Shishido didn't utterly detest that word.

Instead he look severe, his generous mouth a flat line. He's stopped laughing.

"What?" Shishido asks, not a little guardedly.

Ohtori looks down at him a little longer and then his eyes veer away to stare into the heavy pelt of rain outside of their meager protection. 

"What?" Shishido asks again.

Dark eyes flick back at him, and then drag away once more. "Shishido-san," Ohtori swallows and then licks the rain off his lips absentmindedly. "It's not going to be enough."

Shishido doesn't really get what Ohtori's trying to say and yet his stomach plummets down as fast as the rain and falls wetly onto the cold mud, exactly where the rain ends, too. "What do you mean?" he asks instead.

For quite a while Ohtori doesn't answer. It seems he's struggling with something. Shishido lets him and allows the gap to be filled with the pattering of rain.

"Coach won't take you back like this," Ohtori whispers under his breath. "You'll have to do more."

Now Shishido really does feel all his entrails, his guts, spill out as though Ohtori's simple truth has filleted him, and splat sickeningly unto his trainers and the ground. "I-, why. What else can I- how do-?" he's spluttering like the rain does in a constant chorus all around them.

"Beat one of the current regulars," Ohtori says quietly. "Take his place."

For a moment, Shishido can't breathe. It's like taking a scud serve to the stomach, the wind knocked out of him, his lungs burning with the need for oxygen. Then his traitor mind thinks, vividly sharp:

 _Gakuto_.

It has to be Gakuto. 

As soon as that came, even quicker to surface is the utter disgust with himself.

 _No_.

Not Gakuto. Gakuto is his friend. He can beat him. Yes. But he won't do it. Gakuto is his friend.

Who else can he beat?

Oshitari? Hah, dream on.

Atobe. Yeah, right.

Kabaji? Nope.

Jiroh? Nope, and same reason as Gakuto if he could.

Ohtori?

 _Oh_.

Shishido squeezes his eyes shut and the rain beading on his eyelashes is expulsed by the pressure, sliding down his cheeks like tears. Yes. He _can_ beat Ohtori now. Easily. He has conquered the scud serve, he knows Ohtori's habits, his weak points, his strong points, as well as he knows his own tennis.

No.

No fucking way.

He's not the world's nicest person, Shishido admits to that readily. But that? It's low beyond low. He's still got his honor.

No.

He's not usurping Ohtori's regular's spot. 

Nor Gakuto's.

So.

Who then?

It comes to Shishido like a light bulb going on. Taki. 

Taki.

He can beat Taki.

But.

He's Ohtori's _doubles_ partner.

Before he can help himself, his eyes are pulled towards Ohtori, feeling cold dread settle in the pit of his stomach. God. Will he ever forgive him? Doubles partners are known to share a _bond_ of some sort. A friendship that is rooted differently even than the one he shares with Gakuto and Jiroh. No, not friendship. Chemistry? Something like that. A click. A something that allows two people to play a fairly unpredictable game together in harmony.

Shishido _almost_ knows how it feels. 

If things had gone differently, Jiroh would've been his partner. He works well with Jiroh on a court. But Jiroh is like him, in more ways than one. Jiroh is a singles player. While both of them like partnering one other, there's still some battle of dominance going on in which Shishido wants to prove himself that he can keep up with Jiroh's pace and Jiroh just wants Shishido to trust him and follow his lead.

If things had gone differently, Gakuto would've been his partner. But Gakuto clicked with Oshitari in a way he _didn't_ click with Shishido. That's okay.

Okay, yeah, so he _hasn't_ felt what it's like. There's no one he's been able to _click_ with.

Will Ohtori hate him if he challenges Taki?

Ohtori is already looking at him when his eyes finally seek out the other's. Their eyes lock and hold each other's. Shishido doesn't know what to do; he's got the suspicion his intentions must show on his face. He doesn't want Ohtori upset. Ohtori _helped_ him when no one else would. Ohtori helped him even when it overwhelmed him. He doesn't want Ohtori hurt. 

So.

Where does that leave him?

Fucking nowhere.

He came this far, worked this hard, only to realize he's a big stupid softie. 

Shit.

What a letdown.

Ohtori is still looking at him, but the harsh intense look is fading from his face. Then he smiles, just a little and almost sadly. "Your hair is soaking wet," he remarks, rather randomly.

It's an instinctive reaction, before he can help himself his right hand goes up to touch his ponytail. Strands stick to his fingers as he draws it over his shoulder. He's tempted to wring it out, but he doesn't want to abuse his hair anymore than it already is. Filled with moisture like this the color turns a true black. Figuring it's safer to take the elastic out now, before his hair tangles around it completely, Shishido carefully lets his hair down. Actually, it feels gross sticking to his face and neck like that. But better this than having to cut the elastic out with scissors later.

"Long," Ohtori points out. "Any reason why?"

It's not a jab. It's genuine curiosity. Maybe a bit admiring at that, even. Shishido is used to being picked on. Heck, old ladies often mistook him for a girl when he was younger, so yeah, he's learned how to deal. Ohtori isn't ridiculing him though, just asking.

Shishido suppresses a smile. It's a mixture of two things: wanting to be a samurai when he was a kid and wanting the same hair like his mother. By the time he was older to react to different impulses, he recognized both reasons as being incredibly _lame_ , but by then his hair had grown long enough that he… liked it the way it was. He has thick hair, a deep, dark brown. And he can pull off the long-haired look, actually. Now that he's older, he can look good with it and not like a girl at all. He's gotten to be proud of it. There isn't much about his physique that's noteworthy, average, always average, but his hair… well, maybe that's the one thing that marks him as _him_ , besides tennis. 

Two things when the name Shishido Ryou is dropped: tennis and long hair, right?

What else?

"I like it that way," Shishido manages with an awkward shrug. He's not about to reveal to Ohtori that his mother was (okay, _is_ , still is, fuck you) his sun and moon and that he wanted to be exactly like her when he grew up. _Ahem_. Hell no. "Takes a lot of work, but, y'know, I don't mind."

Ohtori nods as though he does understand. Shishido doubts it, but he's glad Ohtori doesn't counter with another why.

"We should go," Shishido adds in a softer voice. "It's late and it doesn't look as though it's gonna quit anytime soon."

"Alright," Ohtori murmurs, still giving him a strange sort of look. 

Together they sprint out from under the trees, kicking up water in their wake and exploding puddles with their strides. They only get wetter, of course. For a while it's just dark, a pitch black in which Shishido can only make out the faint luminescence of the paved path they're running along, the stones lighter than the rest of the environment. When the street looms into view with its lighted lampposts, everything starts the glisten moistly around them, the minuscule pebbles in the stones all acquiring a wink of light that forms an ever preceding wave in front of them.

Thunder rumbles above, grinds and then cracks, loudly. Lighting arches across the night. The stars wink down in the few patches of clear sky they find. When the tension releases, the resulting thump of sound is almost deafening.

"Fuck," Shishido gasps. 

They skid to sloppy and wet halt at the corner.

"Tomorro-" Shishido shakes his head. There's no more tomorrow. It's done with. "Thanks," he says instead. 

It makes him feels strangely bereft. 

This is it. Ohtori and him go separate ways now.

"You're welcome," Ohtori isn't shielding himself underneath an arm the way Shishido tries to. He stands and lets the rain hit him. 

With no more words left between them, they turn away from other. Shishido is already moving when Ohtori calls over his shoulder, "Shishido-san? Good luck, tomorrow."

Back home, Shishido drips all over the hallway as he kicks off his shoes. Drips all over the stairs and actually rather drips over everything he comes into contact with. Outside the thunderstorm is shaking the very night with its ominous rumbling. At last he wrings himself out of his wet clothes, leaving them in a gross, sodden heap outside the shower. Even though it is also water and just as wet as the rain outside, the spray of the shower hits warm and welcome. Shishido takes his time washing his hair. First shampoo, to clean it, and then some fancy conditioner to tame it so the strands become as soft and smooth and shining as they always are. Loose like this, his hair is a wet blanket falling lower than his shoulder blades. It's soothing to run his hands through the long strands, finger combing it until it's sleek and smooth. He lathers his body, once, twice, then rinses. The soap still burns into the various scrapes and cuts, but at least some of them are starting to scab now.

For a while he just stands under the spray. His eyebrow throbs. His palm is red and tingling.

Shishido leans against the cool sides of the stall, tilts his head. He laps the clean water from the crease of his lips and slowly sinks down. The shallow tub of the shower stall barely holds any pool, but enough so the bottom doesn't have the chance to cool down.

Shishido sits in the shower, the spray hitting the back of his neck, his hair hanging like a curtain on either side of his face and thinks.

_Shishido-san? Good luck, tomorrow._

Please. Please let Ohtori be as smart as Shishido thinks him to be. Please let him know it's gotta be Taki. 

Shishido wishes he knew how to be a better person.

He's still doing this for himself. Maybe that makes him an egoistical bastard.

But he's not gonna stop now.

Tomorrow?

He's taking his damned regular's spot back.

***

Next morning dawns clear and warm. Last night's rain lingers in a sweltering humidity. Even at the crack of dawn, when he takes Mochi for a walk, his shirt sticks to his back with sweat. It's a Sunday. Most students will be taking advantage of the day to meet up with friends, chew through their homework load, or go to cram schools. Shishido does none.

After walking the dog, Shishido goes for his habitual morning run and does exercises in a secluded spot in the same park he just walked Mochi in. Push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, … He's started skipping rope to increase his stamina and he's purchased a power ball to train his fingers and wrists. 

He's not the only one. At Hyotei, the team, especially the regulars, will already be starting to arrive. Practice starts at ten in the morning, but with Seigaku as their opponent, they can't afford to get sloppy. Normally they wouldn't have needed to be so cautious and tense, but since they lost ( _his_ fault, his damn fault) to Fudomine, they haven't got that luxury. 

They need to win. Or it's over. 

Shishido realizes Ohtori was painfully right. The training alone is not enough. Somehow he needs to convince Sakaki that taking Shishido back on the team, even with this crucial match on the line, is the right choice. He'd probably make a better impression if he took out someone of Ohtori's caliber, or Jiroh's. Neither is an option. It's gotta be Taki.

Even though he's not really hungry, Shishido lets his mother fuss and stomp a sizable breakfast in him. He hasn't told her today's the day, but she seems to connect the dots through his silence and pre-occupation. Eating without tasting, Shishido sits and broods and tries to keep his heart rate under control.

His uniform shirt is still dirty. Not wet any longer, thankfully, but still dusty and grimy. He should've just taken a different shirt yesterday, but he was in a hurry and had practiced in his Hyotei jersey. Careless. 

Nothing to do about it.

He arrives at the courts before any of the regulars. A few of the others are hanging around in the shade of the club house, listless and slow to start. Shishido darts past them and is changed and back out before any of them actually realize he's arrived. 

Then he settles down to wait.

Thankfully he doesn't need to sit there for long. Taki arrives early, for once, right after Kabaji does. There's nobody with him.

So far so good.

"Taki," he calls out as he steps from under the tree.

Taki turns and blinks. "Oh, it's you," he says, softly. There's the strangest expression on his face. Almost as though he already knows what… "I was wondering when you were going to show up," he adds with a sigh.

"I- what?" Shishido splutters to a stop. 

"Yeah," Taki murmurs and sighs again. "So, see you on the B courts in half an hour?"

"Er. Yeah, I, sure," Shishido is completely stumped. Did Ohtori…? But when would he have? Should he apologize to Taki? No, no, that's diminishing Taki's graceful conceding to the challenge. Better say nothing at all.

Without any more words, they turn away from each other. For a while Shishido makes an aimless tour around the courts and then decides to check on his racket and to, well, gather his wits about him. He feels strangely deflated after that encounter. He'd expected that he'd needed to persuade Taki, maybe making jabbing appeals at his honor, boldly challenge him, or _something_. Not this. 

Back inside the clubhouse there's more of a crowd. Pre-regulars and freshman are all mixed together and horsing around in a typical adolescent display of self-perceived awesomeness. Shishido tapes his racket. Again. Even though he did it yesterday, and once more this morning. The sticky rip of the tape as he unwinds it is the only sound that penetrates his thoughts. Will beating Taki be enough? Will beating any regular even be enough? It's not that he just _lost_ to Tachibana. That by itself is bad enough. Worse is that he was acting tough and boasting of his superiority and then got his ass handed to him on a silver platter. _That_ was disgraceful. It still makes his cheeks burn when he thinks about it. Yeah, that was absolutely shameful. 

Somehow he'll need to convince Sakaki that he's beyond that now. That he's better than that. That he's seen the bottom and now can only go up. That he's different. 

Words are just that. Gestures are just that. They can both be an act.

He needs to make a sacrifice of some sort.

But he’s already down in the dirt, what else has he got left to give up?

Shishido is still trying to puzzle it out when he finishes taping and moves to put the tape away. Pushing his arm into the depths of his bag he feels for the side pocket in which he usually puts some of the smaller stuff. He finds it, drops the tape in it and gropes around for a knee guard. Something cold, cool, and metal snicks sharply against his fingers. Shishido hisses, frowns and then closes his hand carefully around it. Then he realizes what it is.

He walks onto the courts with his freshly taped racked and the guard tied securely around his left knee. Inside the pocket of his shorts there's an additional weight. It taps against his thigh with every step he takes.

His hair sticks against his temples and neck. It's warm and soft and heavy.

"Ready?" he asks Taki.

"Ready."

***

Taki is on his hand and knees.

It's over.

He won.

He feels detached. No matter. Head high. Act in control. If he acts like he is, then maybe, just maybe he can force the whole situation to work for him. 

There's murmuring and exclamations, but Shishido doesn't hear it. He walks off the courts towards the bench. Ohtori is standing there. Before he can try to meet Ohtori's eyes, there's a shout.

"What's causing all the ruckus!"

Most members bow. Shishido, despite himself, looks up at the coach. Sakaki is wearing a suit, even in this weather, and looks completely unaffected. He looks down on the courts, his face unreadable. First he lingers on Taki and then… then the eyes pass right over him.

"Taki will be dropped from the regulars. Hiyoshi will be replacing him on the regulars team. That is all… Practice will now begin!

All the pent up frustration is released with the numb shock he feels dropping into the pit of his belly. So calm, so casual. Sakaki didn't even acknowledge him. He could've been air for all that matter. Before he can stop himself he bursts out, "Coach, why is it Hiyoshi… how come it's not me? _I'm_ the one who defeated that guy!" It is, likely, the worst thing to say. Nor does it sound very convincing. But it's already out and he can't take it back and he's so goddamned angry and disappointed and frustrated.

"That's disgraceful, Shishido," Atobe interjects. 

"Atobe!" Shishido snarls. Like it isn't bad enough Atobe had a front row seat when Tachibana cheerfully wiped the courts with him. Now he gets to see Shishido be kicked when already down.

Sakaki just glances at their captain and then turns and walks away. Shishido watches him go with some sort of sinking despair.

Atobe continues like nothing happened, "You lost terribly to Fudomine's Tachibana. Our coach won't use those who have already lost."

That's true. He knows that. He doesn't need Atobe telling him that. Isn't that why he-

"Since then, Shishido-san has been doing unimaginable tough training for the past two weeks!"

It's Ohtori.

Again. When will the kid start making sense?

Atobe, clearly, isn't impressed. "And?" is all he drawls.

Ohtori opens his mouth once more and then closes it, jaw clenching. Shishido doesn't even know what to say.

Then, suddenly, Atobe's mouth quirks into what could be called a smile, if it wasn't accompanied by an eye-roll. "Stupid… if that's the case, don't talk to me about it. Go talk to the coach," he points out, exasperated.

Not needing to be told twice, Shishido flings his racket aside, heedless of anybody who might be standing in its path and takes off in the direction Sakaki went in. 

"Ah, senpai!" 

There's footsteps behind him.

Sakaki isn't all that far, surprisingly. Before Shishido has properly caught up he drops to his knees and bows low, hair trailing to the ground. Sharp metal pokes in his thigh.

After an almost painful moment Sakaki deigns to turn around. "Is there something else you want?" he asks disinterest coloring his voice. 

"I'm begging you. Please, let me be on the regular team again!!" The words come easy, but sound terribly empty, even to his own ears. What else can he say?

"Coach, being Shishido-senpai's practice partner for the past two weeks… I witnessed him shed blood and sweat during his training. Please, I'm also asking you this."

Again, Ohtori. Why? He is grateful, but why? I just crushed your doubles partner, you idiot! He wants to say, but instead he lets his own wants get the better of him and looks up through his hair to gauge Sakaki's expression.

Sakaki just looks at Ohtori, cupping his face with his fingers curled elegantly against his mouth, as though observing an interesting sort of experiment. Genuinely curious. "Then, Ohtori, do you want to be dropped out of the regulars instead?"

His head snaps back up painfully, jerking himself out of his supplication. No. The bastard. No way. What kind of bargain is that? Can't he see that Ohtori is just trying to help, fuck knows why, because he just is like that? Is that a reason to throw such a challenge in the kid's face?

Ohtori looks, for an instant, shocked. Then, astoundingly fast, his face smoothes out. Calm. 

"I don't mind," he says.

No.

Stupid, dumb-

No fucking way he's letting Ohtori give up his regular's spot. 

The scissors should've been warm from his body heat, but somehow they are still chilly when he curls his fingers through the eyes. Taking the majority of his hair tied by his ponytail in his left hand, Shishido slips the scissors behind the elastic, as close to his skull as he can. 

And cuts it off.

The snick is awfully loud in his ears. The hair escapes from the band and drops to the ground.

"Shishido-san!" Ohtori exclaims, honestly shocked. "Wh… What are you… Isn't that the hair you're so proud of?" 

Yeah, well. 

It takes barely seven snips with the scissors to take it all off. He puts the scissors next to the gleaming dark strands on the ground and kneels up. His head feels strangely light and… breezy. 

If Sakaki still doesn't… and he can't take Ohtori's regular spot. He _can't_. When Sakaki looks at him, still unimpressed, Shishido just stares levelly back.

"Coach," someone speaks up from behind them. Atobe passes between both him and Ohtori and comes to a stop in front of them. "That guy over there," he says, tilting his chin at Shishido, "he still hasn't lost."

"Atobe?!" Shishido exclaims. Of all people. Ohtori; alright, he's _nice_. But Atobe?

"Coach," Atobe repeats when Sakaki still doesn't answer. "I'm also asking you this!"

For a moment the three of them are met only by Sakaki's silence. Shishido is at the end of his wits, he's trained, he's defeated a regular, he's begged and groveled, Ohtori offered to give up his spot, he cut his damn hair and now even Atobe is taking his side. There's nothing left to do.

In the end Sakaki just turns and walks away, saying coolly, "Do whatever you want."

Shishido swallows his sigh of utter relief and instead looks up at Atobe. "Hmph, you didn't have to do that," he says, instead of thank you.

Atobe arches a brow and returns cockily, "I'm only helping you out this once. There won't be a second time." And then, duty done, he turns back to the courts.

Shishido stands up and thinks grimly, _Good, cause there won't be any need for a second time._

When Atobe is sufficiently far away, Shishido rounds on Ohtori. Who is smiling brightly until he sees Shishido's expression. The smile falters, drains away and is followed by surprised blink when Shishido steps into his personal space and jabs his finger viciously into Ohtori's chest.

"The hell, Ohtori?" he demands, "What did you do that for?"

"Do what?" Ohtori asks, wincing each time Shishido's finger stabs him in the sternum.

"Which goddamn idiot goes around offering up his _regular's_ spot for just some guy? I just-" Shishido makes a strangled noise of frustration. _Why won't you make sense?_ is what he actually wants to ask.

Ohtori gives him an honestly surprised look. "You're not 'just some guy', Shishido-san," he says with a slight smile. "Ah, that reminds me! I got an A+ on my history essay, thanks to your help, senpai."

"I- _huh_?" 

"That history essay that was giving me trouble…? You added some notes and pointed out a few passages I was struggling with," Ohtori clarifies. "Thanks to you I got an A+! My father was very pleased."

Again, that genuine smile.

"I, alright. Tennis, " Shishido draws in a deep breath and takes Ohtori by the shoulders, hopefully to shake some sense into him. "Ohtori, _tennis_. Okay? Listen to me, no more randomly sacrificing your regulars spot, you hear me?"

Ohtori lets himself be shaken, a little. Mostly he looks down on Shishido as though he's the one not making sense. "It wasn't random, Shishido-san. I didn't mind if it was for you."

Shishido wants to grab at his bangs, but those are gone, so he grabs a handful of crudely chopped off hair that stands up in chaotic whorls and spikes. "Argh. Ohtori, why- You just. Okay. Never mind. Let's just, I don't know, go to practice or- _what_?" Ohtori's looking at him, vaguely amused and Shishido's hands drop lifelessly to his sides when the taller boy steps closer.

Fingers brush through the mangled remains of his hair, lightly, and then drop to his shoulder to flicks some severed strands caught on his collar. "It looks awful."

"I-" Shishido gapes for a moment and then closes his jaw with a snick matching the sound of scissors snapping closed. Then he says sarcastically, "Thanks, Choutarou. That's just what I need to hear."

"Maybe we could go looking for a cap after practice," Ohtori offers, grinning back. "Which we should be going to," he adds a little guiltily, and turns and walks off.

"I, yes," He takes a step to go after Ohtori, and accidentally kicks his foot against something. 

The scissors slide along the ground, twirling around its axis. Under the soles of his trainers are thick, soft strands of hair. He looks at it, vaguely shocked and then reaches up to brush his hands through what's left of his hair. It's still soft. But now it stands up ridiculously, as though he's been electrocuted. With the sudden weight pulling it flat gone, it spikes up rebelliously with the sudden freedom. 

Hair gone. Regular again. And Ohtori...

Shishido tries to shake his head clear. It's all going too fast. 

But… 

This is good, right?

Yeah. It's something good.

 _Very_ good.

_-fin-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ART FOR THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US:  
> [Silver Pair together in the rain by oriaon/perimones](http://perimones.deviantart.com/art/The-Distance-Between-Us-308738660)  
> 


End file.
